


His Imaginary Girlfriend

by bfcure



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Amy Pond is Human!Doctor, Drama, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-28
Updated: 2013-03-28
Packaged: 2017-12-06 18:33:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/738810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bfcure/pseuds/bfcure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amy is Human!Eleventh Doctor. And that's the problem, because Rory's in love with her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Imaginary Girlfriend

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt: "AU where Amy is in reality Human!Eleventh Doctor, and her childhood memories about the Doctor are beause of the chameleon watch working wrong. Rory is the Doctor's companion".

“He sat in my kitchen, eating fish fingers with custard”, Amy says, not for the first time. She digs into her apple, green and juicy, with gusto and a happy grin (the Doctor couldn’t stand the apples, and beans didn’t even have the chance). “He will come, you’ll see”.

“Fish fingers with custard, the undeniable proof, isn’t it?”, Rory snorts.

  
“Of course! Imaginary friends don’t eat, they are not real”.

  
Rory sighs. He stopped seeing the Doctor’s face contorted by unbearable pain and the trickle of blood on his chin in his dreams only two days ago. Amy’s hair is red and her hazel eyes spark like gold when she smiles.

  
“And it wasn’t any box, it was a time machine, he said so”, Amy continues.

  
She (the Doctor) must not (cannot) remember. That’s what the gold watch with old Gallifrey writings, heavy in the left pocket of Rory’s jacket, is for. Something’s wrong here.

 “All the time and space, wherever I want to go. He promised. Do you believe me?”

Rory does not answer. The Universe has a strange sense of humour. In the evenings Amy gazes at the stars high above, standing in her jade coat and burgundy scarf under dim street lights and waits for the Doctor to arrive. Her lips smell like mint and strawberry, she goes to the parties and kisses strangers, and Rory can’t understand what he wants more – to laugh or to grind his teeth. Jealousy’s colour is black, not green, obviously.

The Doctor does not know how to kiss and he is astonishingly shy. On one of the planets the woman in black evening dress and with sand-coloured hair strokes his cheek and flirts with him (“Hello, sweetie, I need to go after that ship”), the Doctor blushes and stumbles. Rory laughs, pretending he has a coughing fit.     
  
In the mornings Amy doses on his shoulder, and this unconditional trust tears at his heart like a dum-dummed bullet. Their house is big and too empty, but Rory never counts the rooms (doors). He carries Amy to her bedroom and covers her sleeping form with blue (always blue) blanket. And stays nearby, in the chair.

Sometimes Amy whispers his name in her dreams, and Rory curses that day when the Doctor fell on his head (in his garden) in his bloody (beautiful) box.

Amy cooks breakfast at noon – pancakes with apricot jam, and it doesn’t matter that it is already lunch time. Rory touches the cover of the damned watch. _«Bury it»_ , says his inner voice. _«Drawn it in the duck pond without the ducks. You don’t have to open it»_. Rory closes his eyes. _Amy in white wedding dress, gold ring on her finger, their quiet life in Leadworth. Their children, the copy of their mother – loud, stubborn and redheads. And TARDIS in the forest, dying, forgotten and reproachful._  
  
Amy draws the Doctor in his raggedy shirt, makes little sculptures of him and his blue box from plasticine and clay, and on those days her pillow is wet from her tears.

“Who is Rose Tyler?”

  
“I don’t know. Friend from the Kindergarten, maybe?”

“Perhaps”.

  
Rory swears and caresses Amy’s unruly red locks, when her dreams (Doctor’s dreams) become nightmares, and Amy mutters not waking up: “He died in my arms. I’m the last of my kind, I want to die, too”. Thanks God, she (the Doctor) forgets these dreams, and during the day Amy walks like she can start flying any time.

  
Rory takes out the watch, puts it back in his pocket. Stolen hours, borrowed life. Didn’t he deserve some happiness before he dies from old age? The Doctor can regenerate. These thoughts are enough for Rory to hate himself. He hates himself some and then some more.

  
Amy puts her arms around his waist and buries her nose in his shoulder blades.  
“I bought us tickets to the cinema. Seats in the back, simply made for the kissing. What do you think?”  
“It’s lovely”.  
  
 _“How will I know that it’s over and everything is okay?” – “You’ll understand. Don’t doubt yourself, Rory”._

Doctor’s “I believe in you”, even unsaid, eats him raw, like acid.  
  
Their last morning looks like all the mornings before, though there’s no pancakes and no omelets either.  
“You’re lying”, Amy screams, stopping at the sixth – _extra_ – door.  
“Just open your watch, okay?”  
  
One multiform (and strange prophecy) later they are in the TARDIS. Finally. There’s a lot of running ahead of them – they need to learn more about Pandorica and the Silence that “falls”, but it will have to wait. Rory pulls the Doctor into his arms (the Doctor cringes but doesn’t resist) and, kissing his dry and at the same time soft and warm mouth, thinks _Amy, Amy, Amy._

 


End file.
